Underfantasy (Revised)
by Deku Lily
Summary: Attempting to escape a living nightmare, a human girl falls into a fantasy she didn't think she was capable of imagining. But the deeper she goes, the less she wishes to leave. That is, assuming everything was real in the first place... (An Undertale AU)
1. Chapter 1: Before the Story

**Author's Note:** Welcome to the revision of my AU! *party popper sound* After some much-needed constructive criticism, I hope this run will go much, much smoother than the previous one. For starters, instead of "Underfantasy" and "And the Dream Goes On" being two separate fics, they will now cozily share the umbrella of this title. :3

Mmmm, snug. -/w/- But enough of my shenanigans. On with the story! ^o^

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Before the Story**

 _Year 18XX. Sunset over Mount Ebott has set the sky ablaze. It fills you with determination._

The sky above dawned in pinks and purples, dueling with the last blues of night amongst the gathering clouds. A racehorse of impeccable pedigree trotted down the lonely mountain trail, mildly skittish because it had never been ridden in the dark, nor so close to trees, before. Wind that carried the scent of impending rain made the forest around it rustle and creak. It also sent leaves flying into the horse's face, which didn't help its nervousness. After a night filled with strange and new experiences, it was understandable.

The (barely) adolescent girl in the saddle didn't appear to notice, but she still stroked her mount's neck as soothingly as she could. The only sign of her concern was the slight hardening of the stony expression on her face. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat with difficulty. She either had to find some shelter, or (attempt to) make some herself, soon…

The girl that no longer had a name urged the horse into a canter, hoping to reach the village on the other side of the mountain before the next sunset. She couldn't beat the rain there, but she had more important things on her mind than getting wet. That same mind began comparing her last memory of looking in a mirror to how she must appear now, hoping it was enough to disguise who and what she'd been, before.

Dark hair that once fell to her waist in elaborate curls was now cut just below her ears. She'd done the job herself with a knife, resulting in unevenness she would have to live with. Her complexion, which was normally somewhat swarthy, was no longer caked in enough cosmetics to make her look (and feel) like a clown. She could feel the dark circles that ringed her squinted eyes due to lack of sleep. The color of her irises couldn't (and wouldn't) be seen through her long, thick eyelashes. Her squint, brow and mouth formed almost-perfectly straight lines across her face, and it didn't feel like the airheaded, vapid smile she'd been taught to wear. She was willing to bet money she didn't have that she was thinner than she used to be due to her… recent circumstances, but that would only add to the change in her appearance.

Almost as important as her changed visage was what she wore. She was fortunate to have… _acquired_ clothing meant for an adolescent male. She practically drowned in the turtleneck sweater made of gray, undyed wool with a black stripe running across the chest. The stretched-out neck threatened to swallow the lower half of her face, but at the same time it hid the darkening bruises on her neck. Everything, from the undershirt to the britches and right down to her socks and boots, were all similarly oversized. Suspenders worn under the sweater and the thick belt wrapped twice around her waist, over the sweater, kept the britches from falling. The hip pack hanging from the belt had been a much-needed item to aid her survival, and now held a few supplies. Not nearly enough, of course, but…

Simply put, she would have to make do with what she had. Her hands tightened on the reins. * _If only I had more time…_ she thought. * _Then I could've prepared properly! I could have-_

Her thoughts chopped off abruptly as her horse started bucking beneath her. Its instincts were sent into overdrive by a branch brushing its flank as it fell. The girl held on for dear life, trying to bring the badly spooked horse back under control, but she didn't manage. She was thrown clear out of the saddle as she watched her mount run for its life from an imagined threat, screaming as only a panicked horse could.

One corner of her mind and her stomach felt like they'd been disconnected from the rest of her. It was almost like she was watching herself fall. The sensation was simultaneously fascinating… and utterly terrifying. Somehow, she managed to keep herself from landing on her head.

She landed on her right arm, instead. She heard and felt something _crack._ When her stomach returned to her body she almost vomited from the wave of pain that flooded her, and only sheer force of will kept her from doing so. There was nothing but bile to bring up and she couldn't afford the dehydration that might follow, nor the acid burning her healing throat. Her canteen had all been in the saddlebags… which were now running away. As was the spare clothing, the knife and bow and arrows for hunting, the maps…

Everything was _gone._ She couldn't help the frustrated tears that mingled with tears of pain, both burning the corners of her eyes, but she still managed to pull herself together.

* _No! Not everything is gone. I still had the hip pack and my life. That's all I need. I will_ crawl _over this godforsaken mountain if I must! I will do_ anything _to get as far away from_ **him** _as possible!_

The girl clenched her good fist, opening her eyes to glare at her injured arm. Her sunset-colored irises were filled with determination as she reached into her hip pack to begin treating her injury.

* * *

The next few hours went by in a haze as the clouds grew darker and drowned out the sun. The girl used a bandage and a fallen stick to splint her arm. She'd also fashioned a makeshift sling with a second bandage, letting her hold the throbbing appendage against her body without jostling it too badly. It was probably "only" fractured, but she couldn't be sure. Poking and prodding the injury was very painful, but it wasn't swelling that badly as the hours went by. That had to mean damage to the soft tissues was minimal, didn't it?

She put one foot in front of the other… again, and again, and again. The survival guides she read had taught her how to keep her bearings in the deep woods, which she utilized to the best of her ability. She passed by mushrooms, wishing she could eat them, but since she lacked a mycology book it was probably best not to tempt fate. She didn't need poisoning on top of a broken arm.

Her stomach growled, protesting the decision. She shook her head at herself, knowing she probably wasn't going to reach her destination before dark. She might not make it at all if she couldn't find water, soon. She didn't want to die… but if she did at least it would be out here, away from-

A distant sound made her stop in her tracks, holding her breath. She struggled to listen, hearing her heart pounding in her ears. Dogs? Did she just hear dogs barking? What would they be doing out here? Was it just them or-?

She heard it again. It was closer, so there was no mistaking it. It was the baying of hunting hounds and they were on the trail of something, if that excited howling was anything to go by…

The girl's knees suddenly felt weak. * _How?_ _How can_ _ **he**_ _be here, so soon?! It's not possible. I did everything I could, pulled every trick I learned to throw_ _ **him**_ _off my trail. He can't be here! He_ can't! _It not fair… It just not-!_

She forced herself to move. It was just a twitch at first, then a stumble. She worked herself into a jog before running for her life. The pain in her arm and throat didn't matter. Her hunger didn't matter. Nor did the exhaustion from being on the run all night. There was only one thing that did; staying away from her pursuer.

If **he** ever got his hands on her, she was going to _wish_ she was dead.

The clouds above Mount Ebott opened up, drenching the forest and the girl running through it. The leaf litter became slippery underfoot. She knew she was leaving a trail behind herself but what else could she do? She'd tied the strands of her cut hair to the other horses in the herd before scattering them. She'd forded the river and even conducted one final "order of business" in it, letting the current carry it away. The rags she'd been wearing before she ran away were in the saddle bags that'd run away from her.

She was out of options. She could only hope her pursuer was even more tired than herself to have caught up this quickly.

The sling snagged on a branch. The flair of pain in her arm only added to her barely-restrained panic and she tore it off. Being forced to hold her own arm affected her balance. She stumbled more often and slipped twice. She kept her injury from getting worse, but her knees and good arm all the way up to the shoulder suffered for it.

She followed a narrow, winding game trail. She ran higher and higher up the mountain's flank, looking for shelter through the rain and gloom. Mount Ebott was an extinct volcano, so there had to be an old vent, somewhere! She hoped one would lead to an old magma chamber, or a network of tunnels. She just wanted a place to hide…

The howling was still behind her, spurring the girl onward despite her fatigue. If this proved to be her final resting place, so be it, but she sure as hell wouldn't go down easily…

Her heart leapt when she finally saw a cave opening. She knew bears or mountain lions could be using it as a den, but she ran right inside, anyway. Being mauled was better than what awaited her. Fortunately (or not), she saw no signs of animals, just some fossilized tree roots that lined the walls and zigzagged upon the floor of the cave. Normally she would've paused to study them… but her only concern at the moment was going as deep into the cave as she could.

She looked over her shoulder as she ran. She thought she heard the howling come even closer, but was uncertain. She saw nothing, but as she turned to face forward again she stumbled, tripping on a stony root. She took one step, then two, trying to regain her balance…

…but the third step never met the ground. It met only air.

One corner of her mind detached, again. She was falling and she couldn't see the bottom. She should've been more scared of the inevitable end that awaited her, but that corner of her mind only had one thought.

* _At least_ _ **he**_ _wouldn't be able to hurt me, anymore._

Her fall lasted just long enough to turn herself around, letting her back hit the floor when she finally found it. Although landing head-first might make it quicker, she couldn't quite orient herself properly. Curling her body around her arm was still throwing off her balance. She knew she didn't need to… but she couldn't bring herself to let it go.

She closed her eyes and waited. She thought she smelled golden flowers just before she lost consciousness and thought no more.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Aaaand that's all folks! That's all there is to the story. There's no need for you to come back. None at all! *audible wink* (Psst, there's actually more, so please do come back. Q^Q )


	2. Chapter 2: Fallen Down

**Chapter 2: Fallen Down**

The girl was slow to regain consciousness, awakening with a groan. She kept her eyes shut against the light trying to bore holes in her head.

* _Is being dead supposed to hurt this much?_ Everything ached, and the back of her head and arm throbbed in time with the heartbeat she shouldn't have. But, if she was to be honest with herself, she supposed surviving her fall should've hurt _much_ worse.

Assuming she was actually alive, of course. She wasn't convinced a human could live after a fall like that with just some bruising and a headache.

Groaning again, she started checking herself. (If her brain was going to insist she was alive she might as well act like she still was.) Her arm hadn't gotten any worse, and she had a bump on the back of her head. Her neck was still bruised, all around, but she could still breathe. The scrapes on her knees had scabbed over. The bruises on her left elbow and shoulder (protected from abrasion by the thick wool sleeve) stung a bit as she moved her limb. Moving her spine didn't hurt so she hauled herself into a sitting position, opening her eyes (as much as she ever did) at last.

She sat upon a bed of golden flowers. They must have broken her fall. Their scent reminded her of the place she'd fled from, but she told herself what happened wasn't their fault. Especially _these_ flowers, growing so far away.

Looking up, she found crystals shining almost like the sun. Was that how the flowers grew, all the way down here? It didn't seem very feasible… but surviving that fall wasn't, either. And she didn't know what kind of radiation those crystals were giving off, so who was to say it couldn't trick flowers into blooming? Was it safe for her to be sitting under them? Well, as safe as one could be with ultraviolet radiation soaking into their skin…

The girl mentally scoffed at herself. She had more important things to worry about. She brought her eyes down, blinking at the room she was currently in. A "room" was the only thing she could call it, because it wasn't the untouched stone cavern she expected.

Now that she wasn't looking directly at it, the light turned out to be weaker than it seemed. It barely lit the flowerbed and not much else. Even so, she could see tall, carved pillars ringing her in a semicircle. The only exit she could see went down what appeared to be a hallway. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she could almost see more pillars at the end.

The girl considered her options. She couldn't see any way to climb back up, but that wasn't a viable option, anyway, given her injury. She could stay right where she was, but starving to death wasn't exactly ideal. Whether she was alive or hallucinating it _felt_ real enough, from her pain to the softness of the flowers brushing her legs. It was probably prudent to avoid such a demise. She just had to get off her behind and do so…

She rose to her feet and shuffled forward, cradling her arm as she left the room through an archway, pausing long enough to examine the pillars and the angel-like design carved into the stone above her.

Walking down another hallway she found yet another ring of light. This one only had a single golden flower sitting in it. There was something odd about it, so she stood just outside the light to examine it from there. Her mind reeled at what she found, though her face remained impassive.

The flower had a face. It had. A face. A face ringed by six golden petals and with two beady little eyes set above a wide smile. The mouth moved…

"Howdy! I'm Flowey. Flowey the Flower!"

And now the flower was talking in what almost sounded like a little boy's voice. The girl said nothing in response, struggling to process all the new information and hypotheses that suddenly sprang to life in her brain. After a few seconds of silence "Flowey" cleared its throat (* _Do_ _flowers_ have _throats?_ ) and continued speaking.

"Hmmm… You're new to the Underground, aren'tcha? You must be so confused. Someone ought to teach you how things work around here!" The girl let out a sharp bark of laughter before she smothered it. One of Flowey's eyes twitched but its tone of voice stayed friendly as it asked, "What's so funny, new friend?"

Muscles the girl hadn't used in a very long time strained as her mouth quirked into a half-hysterical smile. Everything made sense, now…

"I'm dreaming," she croaked, her voice rusty and breathless because of injury, dehydration and stifled humor. "I have to be. That's the only explanation that fits. Flowers can't talk!"

"Golly, now that's just rude," said Flowey. "Do you think a dream could do _this?"_

The girl (who really needed a new name) gasped as something happened inside her chest. The hallway somehow darkened further as she suddenly felt very, _very_ vulnerable. When she looked down something red was floating before her, shaped like a Valentine's Day heart and glowing bright red. A yellow bar declaring to indicate "HP" also appeared. The girl didn't know what it was for, but the fact that it was only half full worried her. It made her neck and arm throb looking at it. She had the sinking suspicion that "HP" was somehow tied to her well-being.

"Now, to start your lesson…" The girl snapped her attention back to Flowey as its voice reached her. It used a leaf to gesture at the red heart. "That is your SOUL, the very culmination of your being. It starts out weak, but can grow if you gain a lot of LV."

Something about its saccharine tone was ringing false, all of a sudden. The girl's bad feeling deepened as she asked, "What is 'LV'?"

Flowey's spread its leaves, like a human spreading their arms in an expansive gesture. "It stands for LOVE, of course! Don't worry. I'll share some with you!" It winked, a little fleck of pollen flying from its eye. The girl was repulsed, but before she could protest tiny, white, ovoid shapes surrounded Flowey. "Down here, we share LOVE through 'friendliness pellets'. Go ahead! Soak them all up!"

The "pellets" slowly floated toward her and the girl sidestepped them. She could see Flowey's cheek(?) twitch as she said, "I'm not interested in partaking of your 'love.'"

She tried to leave and walk around Flowey, but a white square had appeared on the ground at some point. It turned out to signify the borders of an invisible wall, halting her progress. Not wanting Flowey to see how scared she suddenly became she raised her chin, straightened her shoulders and puffed her (laughably meager) chest out. The outward display of confidence helped to strengthen her voice as she looked down her nose and issued a command.

"Release me at once!"

She didn't like the way she sounded, at that moment. It reminded her too much of… certain people, but it was better than letting Flowey see how much it was starting to scare her. "Never show her tears and never show her fears" was the only worthwhile piece of advice she'd ever received. It helped her to survive, thus far. It had to work, now…

Unfortunately her display didn't impress Flowey. It chuckled before saying, "Sorry, _friend,_ but I'm not letting you go. Not until you accept my LOVE."

The girl's brow drew downward, slightly. It was the only sign of irritation and confusion she permitted herself as she said, "I already told you I'm not interested in any of it."

The smile on Flowey's face chilled her exposed soul as it said, "Don't you get it, yet? _You don't have a choice._ Now DIE."

The walls closed in. She couldn't move as she was surrounded by a ring of pellets. She used her good arm to bring her soul closer to herself, holding it and her injured arm at the same time, but it didn't make her feel any safer. She shivered as Flowey's face morphed into the most grotesque, inhuman smile she'd ever seen. It looked like some _thing_ that didn't belong in any decent world.

She was staring Death in the face, again. It kept getting uglier and uglier, every time…

Flowey's demented, maniacal laughter echoed off the walls, filling the girl with dread. She closed her eyes as the "pellets" inched closer. She hugged her arm and soul tight, the pain making the nightmare she was trapped in feel all too real. She held her breath and prepared to die…

…but the ill intent in the air vanished. The girl peeked through her lashes to find that the pellets were gone. Flowey looked just as confused as she felt. A blur of orange light streaked toward Flowey in a rush of heated air, knocking it away from the girl. As it disappeared so did the HP bar, the white square at the girl's feet and the peculiar darkness that'd settled over her. Her soul disappeared as well, concerning her until she realized she no longer felt so vulnerable. It was probably back where it belonged. She calmed herself down with that thought as a new voice made itself known.

"What a terrible creature, torturing a poor, innocent youth."

A very tall figure stepped into view, standing seven feet tall at the very least. There was something goat-like about it's long face, short horns and floppy ears, but it wasn't a perfect comparison. It was fanged, for starters, and its eyes faced forward as it glared at the place Flowey disappeared to. It's short, pristine white fur looked soft as it practically glowed in the half-dark. It had paw-like hands and feet sticking out of the its billowy white dress. It also wore a forest green overcoat with the same angel-like design the girl had seen earlier, embroidered in yellow thread.

The creature (clearly one of the fabled monsters that'd been trapped beneath the mountain, centuries ago) turned to her and smiled. In a motherly timbre it said, "Do not be afraid, my child. I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins."

The girl blinked, forcing herself to think and remember her manners. She owed the monster at least that much, if not more for saving her life! And she wasn't an "it," either!

Mentally castigating herself, the girl made herself say, "Thank you, Miss Toriel, for saving me from that… thing. I'm-"

She hesitated, cursing her lack of foresight. She should've thought of an alias sooner! Too many options flashed through her mind before she latched onto, "Fr…is…k. My name is Frisk."

The girl now called Frisk winced internally. She'd used bits of her old name, which wasn't something she'd wanted to do, but at least making a hash of it had created something that sounded neither masculine, nor feminine.

She didn't know if monsters limited people by their gender the way humans did, but she'd had quite enough of that nonsense in her old life. She was _done_ letting others tell her who to be, what to be, what she was permitted to learn and what she was capable of. She wasn't going to be the person she once was.

She was determined to be "herself," for the first time in her life.

Either Miss Toriel didn't notice the pause in her introduction, or chose to ignore it. She tilted her head, just a bit, still smiling as she said, "Frisk, is it? It is a pleasure to meet you, my child. I am glad I was able to intervene when I did. I pass through here every day but you are the first human to fall into this place in a long, long time."

"Is that so…" Frisk suddenly felt numb and lightheaded. Was the adrenaline rush from Flowey's attack wearing off? The room began to spin and grow cold. She was _hungry,_ and _tired,_ and everything _hurt…_ She probably wasn't safe, yet, but all she wanted to do was lay down and sleep.

* _Sleep sounds so… good…_

* * *

Toriel let out a gasp as the child collapsed. She was quick enough to catch the poor human before they hit their head on the ground, but she was gravely concerned. She Checked Frisk… and admonished herself for not noticing the child's poor health sooner. It was rather obvious, from the mud-splatters and bits of leaves stuck to their clothing, to the scrapes and bruises on their exposed skin. Not to mention the gauntness brought on by poor nutrition, or a lack thereof…

She set aside her speculation of what brought the child to this place. After conducting a quick physical examination she found an improvised splint and the fracture it was trying to stabilize. Healing that restored about a third of Frisk's missing HP. Healing the horrific bruising on their neck healed over half of what remained.

* _Did someone try to_ strangle _this poor child?!_ she thought indignantly. If those marks had truly been made by someone's hands, they were rather large. Human males were typically bigger than the females, so…?

She shook her head. Speculation wasn't going to heal Frisk, so she went to work on the minor injuries, bringing them up to full health.

Nothing Toriel did awakened them. Judging from darkened skin under their eyes, they'd probably been beyond exhaustion _before_ being attacked by that flower-shaped creature. She knew humans were very determined beings, often pushing themselves beyond their physical limitations to accomplish great feats when things seemed dire, but those limits could not be pushed forever. Somehow, for whatever reason, Frisk had gone even farther than that.

A mere child, who could not be more than twelve years old (at most) had pushed themselves to the brink. But why…?

Questions she longed to ask the human about their origins crossed Toriel's mind, but they were not important. For the first time in too long a child needed her to take care of them and she was _not_ going to fail them. Carefully, gently, she cradled Frisk in her arms. They continued to sleep as Toriel carried them through the Ruins, all the way back to Home.

Lessons on puzzles and Fighting would have to wait. Frisk had clearly been through enough, for one day.


	3. Chapter 3: Home

**Author's Note:** Reminder that this is the last update, for a while. I'm putting this story back on hiatus to keep tweaking. So much...

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Home**

The human awoke from the most restful sleep she had in recent memory, for once free of dreams representing her fears and insecurities. She kept her eyes closed, sighing as she snuggled into her quilts.

The maid would come soon to wake her up. She would have to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed and ready herself to deal with whoever her parents threw her at. She would be forced to smile and laugh and "be normal" despite everyone treating her like she wasn't.

It was just another day in her life.

Opening her eyes at last, she expected to see the window her bed had faced for almost a decade, but it was completely absent. She quickly realized there weren't _any_ windows. Darting her eyes about the room, she didn't recognize it, at all! Panic froze her body as she stared wide-eyed at the wall, trying to prevent herself from hyperventilating.

Frisk finally remembered her new name, and the fact that she hadn't slept in her old room in months. She remembered falling down a hole. That meant she had to be somewhere under Mount Ebott, but where…?

As she sat up and looked around she checked herself for injuries that were no longer present. The splint was also missing. She still wore her clothes and her boots were on the floor, although a quick inspection found everything to be a little less muddy than they'd been when she woke up in the flowerbed. Had someone cleaned her up? Who? And how did her wounds heal so quickly?

Had she truly been dreaming? Was she already in the village on the other side of Mount Ebott? Why didn't she remember arriving? Or was she still dreaming…?

The dim light coming off the lamp wasn't enough to fully inspect the room, so Frisk left the bed to see if she could make it brighter. It turned out to only have two settings, the other indeed being bright enough to properly illuminate everything. After blinking the spots out of her eyes Frisk put on her boots and set about exploring her oddly civilized surroundings (that she didn't expect from a hole in the ground).

The door was unlocked. With that worry alleviated she took her time looking around at the dusty toys. She snooped in the wardrobe and dresser that were fit to burst with knitted clothing, sneezing as she disturbed the dust. Atop the dresser sat the old bandage and stick from her splint, which she shoved into her hip pack, thinking she might find a use for them, later. There was a box on the floor filled with children's shoes in a disparity of sizes… but none of them fit any better than what she currently wore. It was mildly disappointing, but to be expected. She dropped in unannounced, after all.

Frisk's mouth quirked, wondering if the tutor who taught her about wordplay would've liked that joke. Or if he'd be horrified by the fact that her "drop" had been anything but funny. He'd been such a nice man, one of the few who treated her like her birth hadn't been a mistake and like she had a functioning brain. He'd also expressed concern over how she was being treated at home, more than once…

It was probably why her parents fired him.

She stuffed the fond (and not-so-fond) memories into the corner of her mind where they belonged. She was never going to see those people again. Reminiscing wasn't going to help her figure out her current location. She needed to get going…

Slowly, Frisk opened the door, taking her time so the hinges didn't squeak. The lights in the hallway outside were bright, and everything was quiet. Frisk wondered what time it was as she stepped into the hallway. With no sun or moon, she wondered how whoever lived here could tell time. Did anyone live here? It didn't _feel_ abandoned, the way adults said the Old City felt, but it was still awfully quiet…

To her left was a dead-end so Frisk walked to her right, passing by a tall vase with a drooping cattail in it. She passed by a set of stairs opposite a door that seemed to lead outside. She briefly considered leaving, but the house felt inviting while the outside… didn't. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

Hoping to stay unnoticed, she flattened herself against the wall as she peered into the next room. It turned out to be a living area with a bookshelf, tools for the lit fireplace, a dining table and chairs. Next to the fireplace sat a big, overstuffed armchair. It was currently occupied by a monster she recognized, though she was now wearing little reading glasses…

Frisk gulped. So she _hadn't_ dreamt of being attacked by a talking flower, and subsequently being rescued by a monster. Frisk supposed she could still be dreaming… It didn't feel like it, but what else could it be? It _had_ to be a dream, because someone like Toriel shouldn't exist.

It'd been ages since the war against the monsters. The paltry amount of written information from the era (that survived the passage of time and all the natural disasters since) _insisted_ that they'd been nearly wiped out before being sealed away. They should've died out by now. What sort of resources could have sustained them down here, for so long?

Unless… Toriel _was_ the last monster.

The thought of someone kind enough to rescue a complete stranger being so utterly alone squeezed something inside Frisk. The quiet suddenly felt oppressive and suffocating.

No halfway-decent person deserved to be forced to live in a cage made of solitude, no matter how warm and inviting it looked!

Frisk shook her head at herself. She was jumping to conclusions without any evidence. There could be other monsters, she just hadn't met them, yet. She wasn't going to learn more about her surroundings by cowering in the hallway, so she told herself to stop being silly and to get moving.

Again, assuming she was truly awake and actually moving.

The thought was becoming bothersome. Frisk internally debated whether or not to stop doubting the reality of her situation as she approached Toriel. One corner of her mind noted that she was knitting what looked like a sock in blue yarn. Her hands moved with a level of expertise that Frisk both admired and envied.

Toriel looked up from her project. She smiled, her cherry brown eyes warm as she exclaimed. "You are awake! Oh, thank goodness." She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I thought… well, it no longer matters. How do you feel, my child? Did you have a good rest?"

Frisk nodded. Although her throat and mouth felt gummy from dehydration, she still managed to say, "Yes, I feel much better now, Miss Toriel, thank you. How long have I been unconscious? What happened to my injuries?"

Toriel tilted her head, considering. "You slept for only about… four hours, I would say. As for your injuries, I-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Frisk's belly chose that very moment to protest its emptiness loudly, angrily, and painfully. Frisk pressed both hands to her middle, not to hide the sound but to try and ease the sharp pangs gnawing on her spine. She tried to keep her expression neutral, out of habit, but she could feel the tightness in her brow and mouth as she tried not to whimper pathetically.

* _This is so embarrassing!_ she thought as her cheeks heated. * _Mother would never forgive me for committing a faux pas like this! She would punish me for sure! I-!_

Toriel rose from her chair. "Oh, you poor dear! Of course you are starving. Take a seat at the table and I will fetch you something to eat." Toriel suddenly paused and narrowed her eyes, just slightly. "Although… If I may ask, when was your last meal? If you have not had a substantial amount to eat in some time, I do not wish to hurt you by giving you too much, too soon."

Frisk couldn't meet Toriel's eyes and wound up staring at the embroidery on the monster's overcoat. She hadn't eaten a decent meal since her life had taken a turn for the worse, months ago. She'd managed to get _some_ food and water, but nothing she would define as "substantial." How could she phrase it without prompting any further investigation on Toriel's part?

She didn't want to talk about the past. She didn't want to _think_ about it, the way she'd just been thinking about a mother that had no power over her, any longer. She'd left it all behind so she didn't _have_ to think about it!

A large, warm hand fell on Frisk's shoulder, making her look up. She found a gentle expression on the monster's face.

"It is alright," said Toriel. "Your silence on the matter speaks well enough. I baked a butterscotch-cinnamon pie to welcome you to your new home, but it will have to wait. It may be a bit too rich for your stomach to handle, for the time being."

Frisk looked at the arm attached to the hand on her shoulder, then into Toriel's eyes. She couldn't have heard that right. She did _not_ just hear the words "new home" falling out of an almost complete stranger's mouth. Her confusion must've been apparent, despite her squint, because Toriel tilted her head as she asked, "Is something the matter, young one?"

Frisk quickly shook her head. "It's… nothing. Thank you, Miss Toriel."

"The pleasure is all mine, my child." She pat Frisk's shoulder, then pointed at the dining table. "Now sit. I will bring you dinner." After issuing the rather matronly command she bustled off in a swirl of skirts. Frisk stared after her, amazed that such a large being could move so fast. There'd been a happy little smile on Toriel's face…

Somewhat bemused, Frisk obediently sat at the table. She took in the dried (or dead) flowers in the vase before her, the delicate lace doily beneath it, and stared at the woodgrain of the table. It might've been because she was still tired but it looked like they were moving, swirling 'round and 'round the knot in one of the planks.

She was getting sleepy. Was she even awake? The pain in her stomach should've meant she was… but it all felt so surreal. Although she'd decided to treat everything as though she was alive, her internal jury was still in deliberations as to whether or not she actually _was_ alive.

She shouldn't be. Looking back, there were so many times where she _should_ have died, but didn't. There'd been too many close calls, too many instances where her fate had hung by a thread. Her luck (what little she had) couldn't hold out for much longer.

Was that why she felt like everything was a dream? She'd been living on borrowed time for months… maybe years. She prepared for it as best she could, but she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it finally did, a new pair would dangle for her to wait for, again and again and again. Bad fortune always followed good…

Maybe she was already dead. She just didn't know it, yet.

She was brought out of her brooding by Toriel's return. A bowl with a spoon in it was placed before her, along with a glass of water. A cloth napkin was placed beside the bowl as Frisk stared at what she was expected to eat. It looked like a vegetable and mushroom soup, but there was something else floating in there. Were those…?

"Here we are!" Toriel said brightly. "Snail soup in mushroom broth. Please take care to eat and drink slowly! You may hurt yourself if you do not." She pat Frisk on the head before sitting back down in her armchair. She took up her knitting, but the human could tell she was being watched from the corner of a fur-lined eye. Frisk smiled, hoping her gratitude could be silently conveyed around the lump forming in her throat. Looking down at the bowl, she remembered…

She'd eaten snails, before. The salvaged French cookbook her parents acquired became the bane of her existence before… everything happened. Escargot had been a favorite of theirs to serve at their social events. Drenched in so much butter they felt oily, and so much garlic that it tainted one's breath for days, they squeaked as they resisted mastication. It was always unpleasant but, in her role as "dutiful daughter", she ate every serving she was given without complaint. And, since her parents were such "trendsetters," all of their "friends" served escargot at _their_ events, as well…

Nobody's cooks seemed to know how to make the dish more palatable.

Frisk took up the spoon, bringing it and a cooked snail up to her mouth so she could blow on it. It was mainly to buy herself some time to mentally prepare herself, but the soup was also visibly steaming away. It didn't smell terrible, and there was something comforting about it. It was just soup, so there shouldn't have been, but the feeling was there. It was odd, but Frisk didn't have time to puzzle it out. She'd blown on her spoonful long enough. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. The snail went in…

Frisk's eyebrows flew upward. It was delicious! Then she started chewing on the snail, only to find that it… wasn't bad. It didn't squeak against her teeth, and it practically melted in her mouth. Eyebrows still high on her forehead, she ate spoonful after spoonful, taking care to pace herself.

The oddest thing about her meal was how she felt as she ate. It was like someone was soothing away her fears and worries with each bite. She could swear someone was trying to tell her she was safe, that she _home,_ and it was alright for her to rest. Someone would be there and watch over her, someone that cared.

It was so nice… _too_ nice. She'd never felt anything like it in her waking moments… which meant it couldn't be real.

Frisk stopped eating, patting her lips with the napkin in order to hide the tightness pulling at her mouth. She was only a little over halfway done but it was becoming impossible to swallow around the lump in her throat. Tears burned her eyes, but years of practice kept them from falling.

* _Not yet,_ she told herself as she drank some water. * _Not yet. Never show your tears, never show your fears. Never let them know how much it hurts. Don't cry. Don't cry! Don't-!_

Toriel's hand touched her shoulder, again, making Frisk softly gasp herself out of her thoughts. She somehow made herself look up at her hostess calmly, instead of jumping out of her skin the way she wanted to. Toriel was still smiling, but there was another expression hiding behind it, one Frisk couldn't place.

"Do not force yourself to eat more than you can handle," said Toriel. "Leave some room for the water. It is important to hydrate yourself, after all."

Frisk made herself nod, then she said, "Thank you. I… believe I am finished. I apologize for being unable to eat everything."

Toriel took the bowl and spoon away as she said, "There is no need for apologies. I will save this, so you may finish later." She took a step back, taking her hand away from Frisk's shoulder as she spoke more briskly.

"Now! I am afraid I was so concerned for your health after you fainted that I failed to properly dust your room. I will do so, now, and afterward we can ready ourselves for bed. Until then, you may occupy yourself however you please, but I must ask you not to leave this house or enter the basement. There are still many things I must teach you about living in the Underground. Until you complete the lessons it will not be safe for you to wander on your own. I hope you understand."

Frisk nodded and received a smile for it. Toriel bustled off once more, spending a few minutes in the kitchen before walking down the hallway. Frisk sipped at her water, marveling at the mineral taste that made her tongue tingle until it was gone.

She went into the kitchen to clean her glass. After setting it on the drying rack she began to notice the oddities of the place.

It wasn't like any kitchen she'd ever seen. There was no woodstove, for example. One corner held a tall icebox that looked like something elderly people called "fridges" (or "refrigerators" depending on whom you spoke to). Further inspection revealed it to be a fridge in truth, with a "freezer" where the ice would've gone, if it needed any to function. Despite having never seen a working machine before, Frisk was aware that wasn't how fridges worked, but nobody that deigned to talk to her about them could tell her exactly how they operated.

She opened and closed the door, wondering how it _really_ worked. Didn't fridges need electricity to function? How was the interior being illuminated? Was it always on, or was there some mechanism that turned it off when the door closed? (She quickly found the little switch that was depressed by closing the door, answering that question.) The discovery made her wonder how the house was being illuminated. She looked up at the ceiling to find the source of the light in the room. It looked somewhat like a lightbulb… but at the same time it didn't.

Staring at it made her eyes hurt, despite her squint, so she was forced to stop. After rubbing her eyes she snooped in the cabinets. Frisk found kitchen knives on the highest shelf above the gigantic, sweet-smelling pie that was still cooling on the counter. She wondered why Toriel would keep them in such an inconvenient place… until she remembered how tall her hostess was. It probably wasn't inconvenient for her.

She found nothing else of note in the cabinets. The other corner on the fridge's side of the kitchen held a metal box. It looked like brand-new electric stove and it gleamed in the artificial light, without any scratches or dents. It didn't even have spilled food on the stovetop _or_ inside the oven. Either Toriel cleaned it fanatically… or she didn't use it to cook with, at all.

Did she use fire magic, the way magicians were said to be capable of doing? Was that why eating her food felt the way it did? How? Come to think of it, where did the food come from? The vegetables and chocolate candy in the fridge, and the flour and spices in the cabinet had to come from somewhere. She doubted the monsters traded with humans after being left behind to rot. How could vegetables and wheat be grown down here without sun? Where did the cacao for that chocolate bar come from? Those trees grew in sub-tropical climates! How-?

Frisk shook herself out of her thought spiral. She had too many questions and not enough information to formulate any hypotheses, much less reach any conclusions. She wouldn't be able to find any if she just stood in Toriel's kitchen, staring at a trashcan full of empty snail shells.

She walked back into the living room and took a closer look at the fireplace as she held her hands to it, letting it warm her. She didn't see anything fueling the fire, neither wood nor coal nor natural gas pipes. The flames simply sat there, making her wonder if it was magical in nature.

Once warm, Frisk examined the shelf full of well-read books. She pulled down a history book and read about monsterkind's retreat deep into the caverns. They'd feared more humans would come for them, so they set traps behind them as they ran as deep into the Underground as they could. After a long journey and many trials, the new home of the monsters was founded.

It's name was… Home.

Frisk blinked. She didn't know what she'd been expecting. The author admitted that the king wasn't very good at naming things, and the volume ended soon thereafter. It was the first in a series but she couldn't find the others, so she put it back and continued exploring, Although there wasn't much left _to_ explore (aside from the blunted tools for the fireplace), so she went back down the hallway to investigate the dead end she ignored before.

She passed the door leading to "her" room after briefly listening to Toriel humming a song to herself. When she entered the adjacent room the first thing that caught her eye was a diary sitting open on a writing desk. She knew it was wrong to read someone's private thoughts put on paper, but her desire to collect information overrode her better judgement.

All she found were a number jokes with skeleton-based wordplay. Some of them were so awful they were still somehow funny. Frisk didn't dare to turn the pages, but what little she saw made her chuckle to herself. She wondered if her hostess would appreciate the jokes she'd learned from her former tutor as she continued snooping.

The dresser had a drawer dedicated to knitted socks, although Frisk didn't remember seeing Toriel wearing them, herself. The socks looked somewhat undersized, however, making her wonder why they were here and not in the other room. Then again, there'd been even _more_ socks in there, along all sorts of sweaters and scarves. Frisk wondered if Toriel made them all as she closed the drawer and turned away.

After inspecting Toriel's bookshelf Frisk moved on. The last room on the same side of the hall as the other two was locked, a sign upon its door saying it was "closed for renovations." There was a mirror hanging on the wall nearby, so Frisk took a moment to squint at herself, blinking at the half-starved waif she'd become. She grinned, making her reflection grin back.

* _It's you,_ she told herself. Not the debutante she'd been raised to be, not the barely-tolerated mistake… but _her._ There was something freeing about the thought.

Across the hallway was a linen closet, and a bathroom. It was a very nice bathroom, with all the amenities such a place needed, except for one. A rather important one. A knock on the door jamb startled Frisk, though she didn't let herself jump. She turned to find Toriel smiling at her from the open door.

"I am finished dusting!" she said cheerfully. "I set out some pajamas and undergarments that should fit. You will find them on your bed. Once you have changed, please place your soiled clothing within the hamper. I will wash them tomorrow, after breakfast."

"Erm, thank you, Miss Toriel…" Unaccustomed to such motherly behavior, Frisk was at a bit of a loss. She hoped she was hiding her confusion as she said, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course you may! You need not fear asking me anything, my child."

"Thank you… Where is the, um… toilet?" Frisk blushed, a bit. Proper ladies weren't supposed to be so direct regarding such things… but she wasn't a proper lady. Not anymore. But that didn't mean she wanted to be rude…

"We have no need of them, down here," Toriel said seriously. She adopted a tone Frisk was used to hearing from her tutors, which made the discussion somewhat less embarrassing.

"The food we eat in the Underground is magically generated, whether as a construct conjured by someone, or converted from a magically-grown material through alchemy. Such nourishment does not move all the way through the body, as physically-based sustenance would. I will fetch you a chamber pot to utilize, but once what you brought with you from the surface has left your system, you should not need to do so, again."

Her interest piqued, Frisk asked, "What about the water? Won't that move all the way through me?"

Toriel shook her head. "The water that flows through the Underground contains such high concentrations of magic that it, too, will be absorbed entirely by your body."

Frisks eyebrows flew upward, again. "The _water_ is magic, too? Is it… conjured, as well?"

"It is not. We simply find it to be that way. How that comes about is unknown, but we know this; the planet's core generates a massive amount of magical energy. It weaves itself into everything; not just our surroundings but ourselves, as well." She paused for a moment, as though remembering something, then let out a wry chuckle before saying, "Public sanitation was a bit of a concern, in the early days of monsterkind's imprisonment. It was one of the more pleasant discoveries to be made. But although we no longer need to expel waste from our bodies we must still bathe. So on that note, I will leave you to see to your personal hygiene."

* * *

An hour or so later Frisk sat on her new bed, her body and mouth both fresh and clean, snug in blue pajamas with purple stripes. The ensemble barely fit, and she supposed it was a good thing she was smaller than a girl her age ought to be. Her new socks fit much better. She stared at one, flexing her toes as she tried to figure out what sort of material they were made from. It wasn't like wool from any animal she'd ever known, and it was too thick to be made of cotton. The white color, however, seemed familiar…

She supposed she should've been thinking about something more important, like what she was going to do with herself now. But after being allowed to perform evening ablutions for the first time in two months, her mind was filled with nothing but contentment. She was finally warm and her stomach wasn't gnawing upon itself anymore, despite how little she ate earlier. She didn't know how that was possible, but she wasn't about to look that gift horse in the mouth.

Things seemed to be looking up. Even the thought that everything was a dream didn't really bother Frisk, at the moment. If she was going to have a pleasant dream she might as well enjoy it for as long as possible. The real trick would be to not overthink things…

There was a knock on the door and she bid Toriel to enter. She let the motherly monster tuck her into bed, despite Frisk's belief that she was much too old for it. Then again, she couldn't really remember the last time she was tucked in at all, much less with such care. It was… nice.

Very softly, Frisk said, "Thank you for everything, Miss Toriel" as her hostess was smoothing out the quilt around her. It made the monster pause for a moment, her expression surprised, before she smiled, again.

"You are most welcome, Frisk," said Toriel. She began leaning forward, as though to kiss her forehead. Frisk tensed, bracing herself for the unexpected display of affection that never came. Instead, she was patted upon the head once more before Toriel walked away to turn off (or was she dimming?) the lamp.

Frisk bit her lower lip indecisively as the room darkened. Just before Toriel left the room, she said, "If there's ever anything I can do to repay you for all you've done…" She trailed off as Toriel paused at the door, looking over her shoulder.

Frisk suddenly realized what sort of blank check she just offered. Would she be able to afford whatever-it-was her hostess would demand of her? Her father would never permit such a blunder-!

Thankfully, Toriel only smiled and said, "You owe me nothing, my child. Now rest. Tomorrow will be your first lesson and we have much to cover! Good night, Frisk."

"…good night."

The door was gently shut and she was gone, leaving Frisk to settle into the warmth of the quilts. So very, very warm. Even if this all disappeared when she woke up, she hoped she would remember the feeling.

It was nice to know her mind was still capable of such producing such a lovely little fantasy.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Who knows if toilets are an actual thing in the game BUT, in a bid to preserve my sanity while writing this fanfic, I came up with a headcanon concerning water to apply to my AU.

Is it mentally lazy of me to use magic as an excuse? Yes. Do I care? Not really! ^w^

In case you were wondering about those socks, before you ask what they're made of, consider this; who do we know with a whole heckin' lotta fur that probably sheds no matter what she does, and a whole heckin' lotta time on her hands? I totally think Toriel would learn how to make yarn from her shed fur, if given half a chance. Waste not, want not! ;3

Plus, the brushing she does to gather loose fur prevents matting, which also prevents painful skin problems. _And_ she has less loose fur clogging her drains. Such a useful hobby, wouldn't you say? :D YES, she washes it before spinning it into yarn! She's even learned how to dye it into different colors, but that's a more recent skill so most of the socks already made are still white.

She knits socks more than anything because hoominz don't have nice, furry feet like she does and she wants their tootsies to stay warm as they run around the Ruins. But it leads to having a LOT of socks lying around, more than she can keep in the kid's room. So she has a sock drawer, even though she doesn't wear them herself.


End file.
